Yh.
I sighed, knowing I had probably said something wrong along the way. Then again, I wasn’t well versed in starting or maintaining conversations and did not know how to turn off formalities.
I also saw no reason to apologize for doing nothing wrong,so I reacted with a thumbs-up and left her chat box, getting the unspoken message that she didn’t want to talk to me.
Maybe she was indeed busy.
Or maybe I was making excuses. Perhaps I should go to Angelo for advice on what to say and what not to say. I needed to be more knowledgeable. This was new. This was fragile. This was another first I knew nothing about.
This is me overthinking it.
I released a breath, looking around the space slowly, my feet tapping the ground repeatedly, my fingers tapping my thigh, the quietness growing too loud, the emptiness swallowing me whole, my hearing becoming dull… and suddenly, I was on my feet. I walked to the bar table, opened a cabinet, and removed a cigar box.
I placed a cigar between my lips, lit the end, and took a long drag, long enough that I could not drag in any more smoke.
I let the toxic cloud circulate through my system and—
Someone knocked, and I flinched in a startle, forgetting I wasn’t breathing.
On cue, I entered into a fit of coughing, dropping the cigar in the ashtray as I pounded my chest with my fist, coughing with a wheezy sound, barely registering the smoke escaping my nose and mouth. My vision blurred as I tried calming down, taming the cough, and taking proper breaths.
The knock came again.
I inhaled little by little, gasp after gasp. The coughs calmed. I blinked my vision clear, making my way toward the door, clearing my throat, and getting a bit of control of myself again.
I opened the door, and Elia stood there, looking up from his shoes and directly at me; his expression morphed into instant concern. “What is… why are your eyes red?”
“Cigar. Coughing,” I clarified, opening the door wider before turning and returning to the living room. The sound of the door closing and his footsteps following me were what filled the silence. “Want anything to drink? You can help yourself,”I said, settling on a single couch while he settled on another with Sailor.
“No, I’m good,” he said, his finger grazing his jaw as he looked around.
“I—”
“You should quit.”
I stopped short, frowning. “What?”
He raised his gaze. “Smoking. It’s getting to you. You should quit.”
I did not take my eyes off him as I said, “It helps me.”
“Killing you while it’s at it.”
I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. “You said you wanted to talk.”
He brought his palms together, intertwining his hands. “Yeah, I do,” he answered. “Listen, I don’t wanna revisit the past and dredge up old wounds.” He swallowed. “I know things have been rocky, and all our conversations have ended with me hitting and disrespecting you and saying shit that I don’t mean… I’m sorry if my words hurt you; I was angry.”
My brain picked apart his words.
“Was?” I stated in question. “Does this mean you’re not angry anymore?”
He pressed his lips together. “I don’t know,” he stated plainly. “But I know I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“You don’t want to know why I broke my promise?”
“It’s not going to change anything if I do.”
I tilted my head. “You don’t want to confirm if I am indeed responsible for the death of my mother and siblings?”
